Symmetry
by Yeah.I'm.Awful
Summary: Everyone has bad days. Jim's just happen to be a little more bloody. A one-shot with implied MorMor. T for a bit o' blood. R&R! Cover art by Toril a.k.a rinzler


A/N ~ This story is a little dark, so don't read it if blood isn't your cuppa! Anyway, enjoy my little one-shot :) R&R!

I don't own Sebastian Moran or Jim Moriarty, though I certainly wish I did.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx x

**Sebastian, come home at once. -JM**

Sebastian Moran eyed this text warily. Its lack of emoticons, cutesy nicknames, or casual diction put him on edge. His boss was angry. Or depressed. Or something. There was always an air of uncertainty with Jim. He pocketed the phone and began packing his cherished rifle into its case. His phone beeped again. He slung his case over his shoulder and pulled out his mobile.

**If you do not arrive shortly, I may die. -JM**

He gave an exasperated sigh. He'd seen texts like these before. Depression and boredom were a dangerous mix, especially for his employer. The last thing he wanted was to have that force known as tedium inflect itself upon him. But God help him if he disobeyed a direct order. He called his driver and climbed down from the roof he was perched on. The car was waiting for him on the street corner. He threw his case roughly into the trunk and folded himself into the back-seat of the sleek black car.

XxX

Opening the front door cautiously, Sebastian stepped into Jim Moriarty's apartment. As soon as he was completely in the foyer he slung the rifle case off his arm and leaned it against the wall. If he couldn't escape his bosses wrath, he could at least spare his beloved gun. The sniper proceeded into the living area, noting the smashed lamp and torn drapes. "Boss?" he called tentatively to the quiet domicile.

"Bedroom," came the monotone reply. Sebastian crept into the psychopath's room, expecting the worst. Jim was sprawled across his bed, head dangling off one side, feet almost reaching the other. He had abandoned his usual Westwood suit in favour of a black t-shirt and worn jeans. That was a very bad sign. In fact, this casual attire was worrying Sebastian more than the slim knife Jim was twirling above his chest. Moriarty's black eyes raised to meet the assassin's face. "Sebastian," he said dully, blinking in acknowledgement. One of his hands left the dagger for just long enough to pat the bed next to him languidly. Sebastian strode over and sat adjacent to Jim's shoulder. Now that he was up-close he could see shallow cuts littering Jim's forearms. Not the worst the trained killer had seen, especially by Jim's standards. There was an extremely uncomfortable silence that lasted about a minute. Finally, Moriarty spoke.

"Sebastian," he said sighing dangerously. "I've noticed a...problem." Jim paused and Sebastian wondered if he was meant to respond. If he did anything that displeased his volatile boss at this point, he may not be forgiven. Thankfully, the Irishman continued his monologue. "I was looking through some pictures of you." _Where did he get photos of me?_ Sebastian wondered, but the ever-perceptive Jim saw the unspoken question. "Pictures in here, Sebastian," he continued, tapping his head with the knife's tip. Sebastian let his face unfurrow, but said nothing. "I've noticed that you are decidedly unsymmetrical." Sebastian glanced questioningly down at the consulting criminal. "Your scars are too clustered on the right side of your face. It throws your balance off." Jim brought the blade to his upside-down face for examination. "I would like to remedy this defect." Sebastian cringed slightly as the knife was brought up to run gently across his side. His bosses pale face twisted up to see him better. "Would that be okay?" There was clearly no question being asked. It was a simple statement. It gave Jim the illusion that Sebastian wanted whatever he asked. But Sebastian played his part anyway.

"Of course," he said bravely, turning his eyes forward once more. Jim pulled himself onto the bed and slung his arm around Moran's shoulders, knife dangling by his heart. Sebastian felt Jim's head rest on his right shoulder. He looked down to see wide, vacant eyes staring up at him. His boss looked so bored, his glazed expression akin to someone with a horrible fever. Jim traced the knife up Sebastian's chest and to his neck. He pulled his arms away suddenly and pushed down lightly on Sebastian's shoulders, knife tip pointed away from the sniper.

"Stay," Jim ordered. He drifted lazily off of the bed and into another room while Sebastian remained seated, unsettled by his employers disappearance. After only moments, Jim returned carrying a rather large chair. An untrained man might laugh at the sight of such a petite man carrying something so comically big, but Sebastian saw it as a show of strength. Jim was reminding him that his slim looks were deceiving. The chair was set down in front of Moran, facing the bed. Jim stood back to survey the set-up he had created. He gestured with the blade for Sebastian to move onto the throne. Sebastian stood and turned, allowing his knees to fold at the edge of the chair. Once seated, he watched as Jim strode quickly to the spot on the bed Sebastian had just vacated. Jim positioned himself so his legs straddled Sebastian's, creating a sort of cage. His hands pushed into the bed between his knees, lifting him slightly so he could get his eyes level with Moran's. The knife jutted up from the dip on the mattress.

"Don't move, Sebastian," Moriarty muttered. Sebastian could almost feel new scars being plotted across his face. Jim's eyes flicked over Moran's skin, planning the masterpiece that was to come. After a while, the criminal's gaze rested on Sebastian's eyes. He let himself settle back onto the bed, the top of his head level with Sebastian's brow. The hand holding the knife came up to rest by Sebastian's left ear, tip brushing next to his eye. Jim's whole body shifted slightly as he dug the knife into the skin to the left of Sebastian's eyebrow. He looked inquisitively at his assassin's expression before dragging the dagger down to stop at his cheekbone. Sebastian felt the warm flow of blood drip down his face, but kept his jaw set and his eyes stony. Jim didn't tell him to emote. He told him to stay still. The sting of the blade would pale in comparison to Jim's fury.

At the sight of Moran's blood, the smaller man's vacant expression livened a little. Boredom was still etched into his features, but it was dissipating. He went for the chin next. Sebastian had a little scar under his mouth on the right, so Jim mirrored it on the left. The blood began to distract from the Jim's carefully carved art, and so Sebastian was ordered to remain exactly as he was while Jim went to grab a towel. He returned quickly and pressed the soft cloth to Sebastian's face. The sniper knew his boss picked a white towel purposefully. The idea of blood spreading through it was just too tempting for the sadistic mastermind.

As Jim made the final cuts (three short gashes from behind Sebastian's ear), he finally slipped back into his stereotypical self. "You look so much better now," he sighed as the knife caressed the underside of Sebastian's chin. "Don't you think so, Seb?" Sebastian relaxed a little at the use of his nickname.

"Sure, Boss," he replied casually. Moriarty snaked the towel around Sebastian's shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

"I think I'd rather be Jim for now," he said, gaze unblinking.

"Whatever you want, Jim." This was met with a broad, reptilian smile from the psychopath. The grin was short lived and soon he was back to his bossy self.

"Get yourself cleaned up, Seb darling," Jim said, striding off to some other part of the apartment, leaving Sebastian in the chair. "I don't want your blood on my sheets."

XxX

Sebastian's phone pinged him awake.

**Good morning Sebby 3 I bought you a little present! Go look at the coffee table. See you later. ;-* -Jim**

Sebastian smiled. His boss was out of his funk, and this good mood should last a few weeks. Jim's good moods could be very rewarding. It reminded him why he put up with all the crazy. Well, the obscenely large pay-checks certainly helped.

Resting under the blankets, Sebastian was glad Jim was able to provide him with sweatpants and a soft shirt. His work clothing was not bedtime attire. When Sebastian had tried to refuse the inappropriately cuddly outfit, he was met with a childish whine. "Seb~! How are you going to keep me warm if you're not soft? You have to wear this or I won't be able to snuggle!" Sebastian marvelled at the change in Jim's mood since the beginning of the night. He had finally given in to the pyjamas and allowed Jim to curl up next to him in the bed.

Now, he sat fully up iand felt his face. His new scars were still a little tender, but Jim made him disinfect them already. Looking in the mirror before he went to bed, he was in awe over the precision in which his new markings reflected the old. It looked a little strange, how symmetrical he had become, but Jim has always been a perfectionist.

After stretching in bed for a little longer, Sebastian strode to the living area of the empty apartment, spying Jim's gift to him on the table there. It was an expensive-looking black leather tactical gun belt. Sebastian grabbed it and tried it on over the velvety pants. It slung low over his hips, probably by design. In the holster there was a carefully folded note.

**Doesn't it look marvellous on you? And you get to use it tonight! Directions are on the flip-side. Xoxo**

Sebastian flipped the note over, taking in the location and description of his next job. Smiling, he fiddled with the belt. "Thanks, Boss."


End file.
